


May I?

by smarshtastic



Series: Overwatch Kink Zine [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Body Horror, F/M, Leashes, Monster Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Power Imbalance, Tentacle Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 08:39:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17019393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smarshtastic/pseuds/smarshtastic
Summary: Mercy watches, fascinated, as the tendril reaches for her hand - the one holding the end of the leash. Instead of pulling away, Mercy lets him wrap the smoky limb around her fingers. His grip is strong. It makes her breath catch in her throat.---As a reward for good behavior, Mercy lets Reaper have his way with her.





	May I?

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the [Overwatch Kink Zine](https://twitter.com/OvwKinkZine)! I'm so glad I was able to write my favorite trope (sex pollen) AND my favorite pairing for the zine. Check it out!
> 
> You can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/smarshtastic), [tumblr](https://wictorwictor.tumblr.com) (for now), and [pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/mcreyes)! Come say hi ♥

“You’re doing so well,” Mercy purrs as she drops the scalpel back into the tray. Several eyes blink owlishly at her from all different angles. She winds the leash tighter around her palm. “How do you feel?”

Reaper shifts, the smoke oozing from the ends of his severed limbs as they begin their slow process of reforming. Mercy watches closely. The leash is a precaution that she hasn’t yet needed, but Reaper is unpredictable. 

“Better,” Reaper says. The deep growl of his voice sends a shiver up her spine. 

“Good. That’s very good.”

A smoky tendril oozes out of a freshly closed incision on his chest, the fingers of surprisingly substantial smoke reaching between stitches. Mercy watches, fascinated, as the tendril reaches for her hand - the one holding the end of the leash. Instead of pulling away, Mercy lets him wrap the smoky limb around her fingers. His grip is strong. It makes her breath catch in her throat. 

“Reaper,” she says. She means for it to sound scolding, but instead her voice goes slightly breathless. Reaper’s grip on her hand tightens. He pulls her closer. Mercy lets herself be pulled in, keenly aware of the eyes that follow her every movement, a stark contrast to the blank mask covering his face. She feels another tendril slide up the side of her leg, under her skirt, searching. She forces herself to take a breath. With her other hand, she reaches down to press her palm to the tendril inching up her leg. 

“Reaper,” she says again, more sternly. The tendril under her hand stills. It pulsates, warm and cold at once. The eyes blink at her, unperturbed. 

She shouldn’t do this, but something about the way Reaper is looking at her,  _ touching _ her, is making Mercy throw caution to the wind. In spite of the smoky tentacles, Reaper is mostly immobile until his limbs reform fully. She could run if she needs to, though he’s given her no reason to be worried. He’s had every opportunity to hurt her before this and he hasn’t. It should make her more cautious. But the thrill of the possibilities are making Mercy reckless. 

“You’ve done so well,” she says finally. She wets her lips with the tip of her tongue. “I think a reward is in order. Would you like that?”

Reaper’s head tilts to the side quizzically. Mercy lets go of the tendril that’s stroking the side of her leg. Neither of them move. Mercy holds her breath. After another moment of hesitation, the tentacle slips further up her leg, curling around to the inside of her thigh. Mercy bites her lip. 

“Good,” she says. “Does that feel nice?”

“Yes,” Reaper growls. The tentacle around her thigh grows more bold, sliding further up to the apex of her thighs. Mercy does her best not to tremble, her fingers flexing around the handle of the leash. Reaper tilts his face towards hers as the tentacle presses up against Mercy’s pussy, the thick length rubbing up against it through the fabric of her panties. 

“Oh,” Mercy breathes. “That’s - that’s very good.”

Reaper makes a noise deep in his chest. More tendrils of smoke begin forming, sprouting from the severed ends of his limbs and from around his mask. They all reach for Mercy at once. 

She still has the presence of mind, at least, to tug sharply on the leash. The tentacles stop in their tracks. 

“Don’t get greedy,” she says. “I’ll make you feel good, you don’t need to rush.”

The tentacles withdraw, though they hover expectantly close at hand. The first tentacle is still between her legs. Mercy shifts, trying to grind down on it. Reaper gets the idea; the tendril presses up again, fitting between the folds of her pussy through the barrier of her panties. It rubs back and forth, practically teasing, the thick, pulsing length making Mercy embarrassingly wet almost immediately. She grips his shoulder with her other hand to steady herself. 

“Yes - that’s - oh, that’s very good,” she breathes. Mercy tilts her hips into his touch. It’s like nothing she’s ever felt before; the tentacle shouldn’t feel as substantial as it does, but the pulsating length is unmistakably solid as it rubs against her pussy. It’s certainly more agile than she expected, too. It keeps rubbing at her until her panties are soaking with her own juices. 

Another tentacle makes its way up her leg. Mercy almost doesn’t notice until the end hooks under the hem of her panties. She tugs sharply on the leash. The tentacle pauses. 

“May I?” Reaper asks. Mercy’s fingers flex around the handle strap, suddenly acutely aware of the tenuous balance of power between them. It makes her pussy ache for more. She nods. 

“You may,” she says. 

The second tentacle draws her panties to the side so that the first can rub right up against the soft flesh of her exposed pussy. Mercy gasps at the sensation - the tendril is cooler than she expected, but substantial, pressing against her slick folds in undulating pulses. As she gets wetter, the tentacle slides more easily against her, pushing up between the lips of her pussy, seeking out her clit. Mercy shifts a little, tilting her hips so that the tentacle can curl against her clit. Her knees nearly give out, but another tendril slithers up to grasp her waist, steadying her. 

“G-good,” Mercy stammers. “That’s very good.”

Reaper makes a pleased sound. Mercy looks down at his chest; all of his eyes are on her, watching her. She feels the heat rise to her cheeks but doesn’t tear her gaze away. She keeps eye contact as rolls her hips against the slick, probing tentacle, relishing the way it curls and flicks against her clit. Something ripples across Reaper’s exposed stomach, just under the surface. 

“May I… taste you?” Reaper asks. Mercy swallows down the gasp that rises to her lips, unbidden. She nods. 

“You may,” she manages to say. 

Reaper’s stomach ripples again and then it seems to split open. A huge muscle - a  _ tongue _ \- lolls out over what looks like sharp teeth, a trail of a viscous, dark substance oozing out of the corner of the mouth. Mercy watches, torn between horror and fascination: she’s never seen anything like this before and she should be repulsed, but her arousal is getting the better of her. The tendril supporting her waist tightens and then suddenly lifts her up. Reaper settles her so she’s straddling his truncated thighs, her pussy hovering over the monstrous tongue. Mercy trembles, her grip on the leash turning her knuckles white. Still, she lowers herself to Reaper’s tongue. He makes a deep, pleased sound as the muscle finally connects with the soft, wet folds of Mercy’s pussy. 

It feels incredible - unmistakably powerful, strong, the bumpy texture providing just enough friction while the viscous, dark slick eases their movement. Mercy grinds down experimentally. Still, Reaper lets her take the lead, waiting for her instruction. She can feel his anticipation. His arms twitch at his sides, still healing their severed ends. Emboldened, she rolls her hips and presses down more, feeling the muscle flex between her legs. 

“How do I taste?” she asks. Underneath her, she feels Reaper’s tongue flex, the pointed end withdrawing slightly to dip deeper between the lips of Mercy’s pussy. 

“Sweet,” he says. Mercy shudders. She grinds down again, wanting more of his tongue. 

“Make me come,” she says, the command coming out slightly breathless. 

Reaper growls in assent. Without hands to grab her, he relies on the smoky tendrils to pull her closer. Mercy goes willingly, though she shortens her grip on the leash to remind him who exactly is in charge. 

His tongue rolls against her pussy, covering it completely with its broad surface, pressing up in a way that no human tongue could ever hope to accomplish. He presses in, tasting her, teasing her entrance while simultaneously rubbing the hard nub of her clit. Mercy sucks in her breath in short pants, trying to maintain her control for as long as possible. She doesn’t know where to look; Reaper’s masked face is expressionless, of course, though his head is tilted to the side, as if curiously observing her, and more smoky tentacle have sprouted from the top and back of his head, seemingly reaching for Mercy. She looks down between them, at the gaping maw that split Reaper’s stomach open, at the sharp, glistening teeth that line his mouth, at the thick tongue that unfurls underneath her and disappears between her legs. The tip of it presses into her again - not deep, a tease - and Mercy tosses her head back, letting her eyes slide closed. 

“Yes,” she pants. “Yes - just like that. You’re doing so well -”

Reaper practically preens under the praise. A tentacle joins his probing tongue, snaking over Mercy’s thigh to rub her clit as his tongue lavishes attention over her entrance. She’s dripping with the combination of his viscous saliva and her own juices - the wet noise fills the air, complimenting the breathy sounds that Mercy can’t help making. She grinds against his tongue, hips jerking to keep the tentacle against her clit too. Reaper’s tongue withdraws enough to lick a long, broad swipe over her whole pussy before he points his tongue and presses it into her. 

Mercy’s eyes fly open. She arches in Reaper’s lap, tugging hard on the leash. Reaper stills immediately. She drops her chin to level a look at Reaper’s masked face. 

“Did I tell you to stop?” she asks. 

Reaper doesn’t hesitate any longer. His tongue pushes up into Mercy - almost too thick, the muscle stretching her to the point of almost uncomfortable fullness, but her arousal and his saliva ease the way. She grinds down onto it almost desperately. 

“Good, very good,” she says, her voice hitching, going higher. “Don’t stop. Make me come.”

The tentacle around her waist tightens, holding her in place as his tongue starts to fuck into her pussy in earnest. Obscene, wet noises are almost drowned out by Mercy’s increasingly desperate moans. The tentacle at her clit doesn’t let up, stroking her in time with the thrusts of Reaper’s tongue. Mercy gives herself over to the sensation - never in her life has she felt as helpless and in control at the same time. Reaper’s tongue is intoxicating. He works her open with startling precision, the thick muscle hitting every spot inside of her that makes her toes curl and her body shake. It’s nothing that any human could ever hope to accomplish. Mercy is ruined for any other human experience; this is everything she wants, the only thing she needs. 

“Yes - you’re doing so well, please, oh please - I’m so close,” she pants. She’s hardly moving herself anymore, held up entirely by the tendrils of smoke that come off of Reaper’s body, practically impaled by his tongue. She’s losing feeling in the fingers that hold onto the leash but she doesn’t care. Her orgasm is rapidly building in the pit of her stomach. Reaper’s tongue fucks into her with an obscene squelch, the tentacle at her clit working her into a frenzy. She trembles and shakes, her whole body tensing up. Reaper doesn’t give her a moment to catch her breath, to pull back; he redoubles the pressure on her clit, the tentacle holding her in place tightening around her waist as he wrings the orgasm out of her. Mercy cries out, her pussy clenching around Reaper’s tongue as he body jerks in his lap. 

“Yes, yes - oh!” Mercy gasps. 

The tentacle at her clit brushes over it gently as she comes down from the initial high. Mercy shudders, her pussy still clenching around Reaper’s tongue. She’s overly sensitive, all her nerves singing with pleasure. Instead of releasing her, though, Reaper holds her up, slowly moving his tongue and tendrils against her pussy until Mercy realizes his intent to make her come again. She’s practically helpless in his grip but she doesn’t try to pull away. The tentacle at her clit is working her up to another orgasm. It curls and presses against her, sliding in his saliva and her juices, until Mercy is trembling and crying out again. 

Reaper makes her come twice more before Mercy manages to tug on the leash to make him stop. His tongue withdraws, leaving her feel obscenely wet and open. She presses her other hand to his chest to steady herself and catch her breath. She’s pretty sure she wouldn’t be able to stand up on her own. 

“That’s - you did very well,” Mercy says, her shoulders heaving with each breath. His tongue is still sliding along the outside of her pussy, the touch surprisingly gentle. She shudders. 

“May I… fuck you?” Reaper asks. All of his eyes blink up at Mercy as his tongue caresses her pussy. She can’t decide if the pleading look in those eyes is her imagination or not. She’s come this far - what’s another indiscretion? 

Mercy casts a glance at the severed ends of his limbs and is surprised to see them further along in the reforming process than usual. Perhaps this is good for him after all. 

“You may.”

Reaper’s tongue withdraws into the gaping maw of his stomach, the mouth closing with a click of teeth. The seam of his mouth still oozes a viscous saliva. His tendrils pull Mercy down his thighs and she reaches down to unzip his pants. She finds his cock already hard, cool to the touch like his smoky tentacles. Reaper makes a sound like a groan as Mercy’s hands stroke his cock. 

“May I?” he asks again. He’s been so good - she happy to indulge him. 

“You may,” she says. He lifts her up and brings her right down on his cock in one swift movement. She gasps in surprise. She’s so wet and open that he fills her up without any resistance. His cock isn’t as thick as his tongue, but it feels good in a more familiar way. Beneath her, Reaper groans again. 

“May I?” he asks. Mercy reaches up to cup his masked cheek. 

“Fuck me,” she says. 

Immediately, more smoky tendrils reach up and wrap around Mercy’s body. He lifts her on his cock and brings her back down with surprisingly speed and agility, making her ride his cock. She moans, letting her head fall back and Reaper take control. He fucks into her with a more reckless edge than he had with his tongue - he’s chasing his own orgasm and Mercy is inclined to let him. She does her best to clench around him, wanting him to feel good in turn. 

Reaper growls, deep in his chest, fucking into her hard and fast. One tendril is at Mercy’s clit again, another is sliding inside her along Reaper’s cock. 

“Oh - oh, fuck me - fuck me, please,” she cries out, arching in his tight grip. The slide of his cock and the tentacle inside her is almost too much for her oversensitive pussy. She’s going to come again. She’s going to - She’s going to - 

Mercy practically screams, her voice breaking as the orgasm crashes over her. Reaper fucks her through it, his growls reverberating through her whole body. It’s almost all she can feel. Mercy slumps in the grip of Reaper’s tendrils, exhausted and sated, her grip on the leash slackening and letting him use her pussy as he wishes. She feels like she’s floating, almost outside of her body, looking down at Reaper’s eyes and expressionless mask through the smoke that oozes off his body and envelops both of them. The mouth across his stomach opens again, the sharp teeth millimeters away from Mercy’s own stomach. He brings her down hard against his lap, growling. His cock twitches and swells slightly before it pulses inside her as he comes, the tentacle still sliding in and out of Mercy, making his thick come trickle out of her pussy and pool on the exam table beneath them. His release feels endless, his cock pumping her full of his come. 

Finally, finally, Mercy feels his cock slip free with a gush of come. His tentacles lift her off his lap and deposit her back to her feet on the floor. Come dribbles down the inside of her thigh. Her knees knock together and she tips forward, dropping her hold on the leash to brace herself against the edge of the table. Her eyes focus on the puddle of come on the table between her hands. 

“That was - that was…” Mercy mumbles, trying to bring herself back to the present. She lifts her head with a great effort to look at Reaper’s masked face. He’s slumped back against the exam table, the smoke and tendrils receding back into his body, the severed ends of his limbs nearly fully formed again. His many eyes blink sluggishly at her. “That was very good. How do you feel?”

“Good. Tired.”

“You did very well,” Mercy says. She manages to stand up a little straighter. She reaches down to slide her panties back over her pussy, though they’re so soaked through that it’s a futile effort. Reaper watches her, unmoving. 

“I would like to do that again,” Reaper says. Mercy looks back up at him. 

“You need to rest and recover,” she says. She reaches up to free the collar from around his neck. Reaper moves his leg between her thighs again. She suppresses a shiver. “No,” Mercy says sternly. “You must rest.”

Reaper withdraws his leg, surprisingly docile even without the collar. A smile tugs at her lips. 

“When you’ve had time to rest, perhaps, we can play again,” she says. Mercy can’t pretend not to notice the way Reaper seems to brighten at the prospect - a new pet, so eager to please. She could get used to this. 


End file.
